


a dog is a boys best friend

by RedCrimez89



Series: League of Loyal Companions [1]
Category: Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Art, Comfort, Couch Cuddles, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Good Dog Titus (DCU), Injury, Injury Recovery, Nightmares, Other, Painting, Pets, Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus - Freeform, Titus the Emotional Support Dog™️, gotta stop writing about them lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25751899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCrimez89/pseuds/RedCrimez89
Summary: Damian isn’t quite sure what the point of owning a dog (even though itisn’this) really is. He learns quickly that dogs can be very helpful in more ways than one.
Relationships: Titus | Damian Wayne's Dog & Damian Wayne
Series: League of Loyal Companions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868053
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38





	a dog is a boys best friend

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Been awhile :) so this is apart of a series called ‘ League of Loyal Companions’ which is about Damian’s relationships with his pets. This is the first one, so if you want to stay tuned, press the subscribe button on the series page ( NOT THE STORY PAGE. YOU WONT GET UPDATED IF YOU DO) and when I update the series, you should get an email in your inbox.
> 
> So before y’all read this, I have some things to say. ( This part isn’t important. It’s more of a rant so feel free to skip to the story.)
> 
> Most people interpret Damian as an animal lover since birth, and so do I. But I feel as though his love for animals would’ve died out since he grew up in a place without empathy or affection. Grew up in a horrible environment where mistakes equaled death or torture. He had to learn to be relentless and therefore, his love of animals was probably beaten out of him. So him and Titus hitting it off is more of him relearning his love for animals than growing a soft spot for them, since it’s always been there. Just a little hidden. Also, he kind of implies that dead people shouldn’t affect anybody and that they should shake it off and walk through it. Of course, I don’t feel this way about death but Damian has never had to experience the death of a loved one. By now in his life, the only people he really cares about is Talia and Dick. And neither have died so he feels no loss of grief. Yet.
> 
> Also, most of Titus is based off my one doggo (she’s not the same breed but she’s still a pretty big dog) so that’s where I got the inspiration to write Titus came from.

There are only a couple of things he hates more than living in Gotham: his so called  _ brothers  _ (with the exception of Grayson) _ ,  _ the strange rules that are nothing akin to the ones back home, and the dog. Yes, the  _ dog _ . He doesn’t quite understand the purpose of owning one (although, the canine is certainly not his. Father bought it, Father owns it). It isn’t beneficial to him or his training in any way. After all, all the hound does is slobber, bug him for attention, and follow him everywhere he goes as if he’s in charge of protecting Damian like some kind of personal bodyguard. He doesn’t need protection. He’s Damian Wayne, son of The Batman and the Daughter of the Demon. He was told he was made for greatness, destined to right the sins of mankind. (He doesn’t know if that’s true anymore. Mother had told him that people would obey his every command, that they’d bow down to him in respect. None of those things happened. She lied. He continues to feed his mind those lies in hopes of feeling important and worthy again.) 

One morning, awakes to a sudden dip in the bed that morning. A wet nose presses into his palm and his eyes snap open, a disgusted expression growing across his face. And surely enough, there’s a big black buffoon with its upper body on the bed. The dog has a red leash in his mouth and it stares at Damian eagerly. As if it expects him to instantly know what he wants. Damian blinks dumbly, his brain short circuiting for a moment until he understands. The dog wants to go on a walk - he glances at the clock hanging from the wall - an hour before he’s supposed to awaken from restless solitude. ( All it takes is a day to ruin one's schedule.) “ Do you not have anything better to do, dog?” He asks, despite knowing he will not receive an answer from the canine. As expected, he just stares at Damian intently with big brown eyes and -

With a long, suffering sigh he takes the leash from the dog and clips it onto the red collar around his neck. He allows the animal to roam freely with a promise of punishment if anything is broken or peed on when he comes back, and then Damian quickly brushes his teeth and changes into a more suitable pair of clothing for a walk. When he picks up the leash to lead the dog to the door, he’s stopped when a paw brushes over his hand. 

He frowns, confused and annoyed. What else does this stupid dog require? 

“ What.” He asks (more like demands) the hound in a serious voice. The paw brushes against his hand again and Damian understands now. The dog wants him to pet it (at least he thinks it does. He may or may not have done some research). Except he’s unsure how to pet a dog. Where do they like it most? Where do they like it less? Why is he asking these asinine questions that aren’t important? In the end, the dog gets a pat on the head and an awkward “ good boy” that comes out as more of a grumble than a praise. ( In the movies, the dog owners always say it so he thought he’d give it a try. Afterwards he feels kind of stupid.)

Damian gets a tail wag and lick on the hand for his troubles (“ Disgusting canine”). A frown forms on his face as he wipes his hand on his shirt, side eying the dog and thinking of how to obliterate this furry creature 

Eventually, the pair are outside roaming the premises of Wayne Manor. Damian allows the canine to lead him around the garden (except near Pennyworths roses. That’s a disaster he’s more than thankful to avoid). And somehow - don’t ask Damian how. He isn’t quite sure either - they wind up at the graves of his dead grandparents. He spares a glance at the dog, wondering why it decided to lead him here. This place is nothing but old grief and dead people who mean nothing to him. What is the point of sulking about individuals who have been deceased for years? People who he has no connection with other than blood.

The dog lays down on the patches of grass in front of the graves with a quiet huff. Damian sighs and resigns himself to sit next to the dog that isn’t his, and there they sit for an hour or two, ensconced in nature and left with nothing to do but relish in the silence and reread the headstones careved lettering over and over again.

Bruce is surprised to find his son with the dog that morning.

* * *

Call it homesickness, but it's times like this that Damian truly begins to miss the dry desert he called home for ten years. He’s bunkered down in one of The Manor’s dens, teeth chattering as he shivers relentlessly, desperate to rid himself of the chilling cold that runs through his body. He’s been buried under thick sheets and served many cups of warm Earl Grey tea in an attempt to stave off the biting cold lingering, but nothing has been able to cause it to dissipate. Damian pulls the sheets around him tighter, his fingers trembling. (His grip is so tight, he’s ninety percent sure his knuckles are white.) The fireplace crackles as flames burn pine wood, waves of warmth fading out just before they reach him. Damian shivers underneath his cocoon of blankets and sinks deeper into them, the warmth only lasting him a couple of seconds before leaving him entirely. 

He needs a more permanent source of heat. Something that’ll chase the numb, prickling feeling away from his skin. Something that’ll rid him of the everlasting frigid temperature that resides in him. ( Damian wishes he never took a swim in Gotham bay on patrol that evening. It would’ve been much easier to gather warmth than it is at the moment.) Suddenly, the black canine - the one Father has yet to name because it definitely isn't  _ his  _ dog - comes waltzing into the room. It comes to a stop in front of Damian, big brown eyes staring up at green ones. 

And maybe it’s because the dog can somehow sense something is wrong. Or maybe it’s because Damian is visibly shaking beneath his sheets, but the next thing he knows, the dog is up on the couch and laying next to Damian, pressed against him as close as possible. “ What are you doing?” He hisses, trying to push the Great Dane away from him with no avail. Too exhausted and too cold, he decides to let the dog have his way just this once (twice) and gives up. 

Before fatigue envelops him in a black shade of dreamless sleep, Damian wonders what Pennyworth will think of the dog on the couch.

_ What he doesn’t know won’t kill him. _

* * *

Damian awoke with a start, chest heaving as he breathed in short gasps of air. His eyes snap open and are greeted with the sight of darkness that enshrouds the entire room. He’s shivering under the covers despite the cold sweat that coats his skin and clothing. Damian tears the sheets away from his body, grip so tight his knuckles ache. Trembling, he sits up in bed and pulls the string on the lamp, yellow light illuminating the dark room. He stumbles over to the door, clumsy fingers flicking on the switch for the fan. Waves of cool air wash over his unnaturally pale, sweaty skin and he shivers slightly despite the relief that runs through his body. 

He decides that the best course of action is a warm shower to soothe his nerves and calm his fears. ( It won’t work. He knows it won’t. His nightmares haunt over him, lingering in the shadows and the deepest corners of his mind. They’ll haunt him forever and you can only escape your mind for so long.) When he exits the bathroom, he’s dressed in a black, long sleeved pajama shirt and matching pants as he pats his hair dry with a towel. Damian decides to attempt sleep again despite knowing it's no use. He’ll toss and turn until the sun declares the beginning of a new day, until his eyes become familiar with the darkness and until Pennyworth is knocking at his door informing him that breakfast is ready.

He is very well aware that there is no use in trying to achieve slumber. Not when his brain thrives off forcing him to relive the worst moments of his life. Not when his mind is racing five miles per second, unable to come to a halt. Damian discards his towel into a laundry basket and returns to his bed, grimacing at the sweaty sheets. The boy strips them off the bed and decides to bunker down in his favorite place, the library. Green eyes roam over the spines of many books, battered leather covers and newer, crisper ones coming into view. After a lot of searching and prodding, he finds his hidden copy of the play  _ Titus Andronicus _ . Perhaps a little Shakespeare will be good for me, he tells himself as he pulls the book from the mahogany shelves with ease. 

The sound of parchment flipping continuously becomes white noise as green eyes scan over inked words, interest for once not feigned. Time becomes non-existent as he becomes engrossed in the dialogue and stage directions, becomes engrossed in the story itself. As Damian reads, he stops mid sentence to glance at the door. There, at the entrance of the library - his current respite from demons and monsters that lurk in his worst nightmares - is the dog. It stands there innocently, just staring at Damian before deciding to approach him. “ What do you want, dog?” He asks with no malice in his tone whatsoever, just a tired sigh that has the hound sitting beneath his feet.

“ I suppose if we are to continue spending time together, we should give you a proper name.” He spares a glance at the dog that huffs in response.

He returns his attention to the page. 

_ “ TITUS  _ _ …. We will solicit heaven and move the gods to send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs.” _

Titus.  _ Titus _ . 

Damian looks down to his big, black furred companion with a little grin. “ Read any Shakespeare lately?”

* * *

Titus was beginning to become antsy. He walked around in the hallway in front of Damian’s door, occasionally whining or sniffing at the bottom of the door. The dog hadn’t seen it’s owner since he returned from his usual nightly trip - and Titus  _ knew _ he was home. His scent was strong. The canine knows something is terribly wrong because his owner would usually open the door and offer him a spot on that big, soft bed. He’d stroke his fur and say things the dog cannot even begin to comprehend but it wouldn’t matter because they’d be content and warm and safe. 

Something eerie coats these halls, thicker than before. It’s suffocating really. Which only increases the dreadful feelings the dog holds. With a huff of new found determination, The Great Dane jumps up and uses his paw to effectively push down the lever on the door. It clicks open and Titus walks into the room but not before closing the door once more. ( Damian had taught the Dane those tricks awhile ago. No doubt he plans to teach Titus more.) The black furred mammal slowly approaches the bed of his owner, deep brown eyes focused on the figure lying on the mattress. 

Damian’s eyes snap open the moment Titus stops at his bedside.

His muscles tense up and his brain begins to blare sirens.  _ Determine surroundings, evaluate threat, acquire nearest weapon under the pill - _

Green eyes flicker onto the sight of black fur and large brown eyes that make Damian understand who’s invaded his privacy.  _ Titus. _ ( He doesn’t mind actually. He did teach the hound how to open and close doors for a reason.) Tense muscles uncoil and loosen up, all thoughts of panic and alert forgotten as Damian sinks back down into the plush mattress. “ Titus…” he whispers, reaching out to stroke the dog's black coat. His fingertips smooth over soft hair with ease and he scratches behind the hound’s ear slowly, watching with satisfaction as the dog leans into his touch and snorts loudly. Titus leaps up onto the bed, causing Damian to jerk in pain. The boy groans, hand instinctively moving to touch his injured ribs as if that would fix the pain that emitted there. “ Careful Titus, I’m hurt.” He tells the dog after the pain has subsided into the dull throb Damian has felt so many times before, but has never been able to accustom himself to. 

Damian pats the spot beside him, a content feeling engulfing him when his loyal companion curls up beside him. With one last sigh, Damian closes his eyes and settles back down with all intentions of sleeping.

Before comforting darkness whisks him away from reality, he thinks, I’m going to have to clean the sheets after this.

* * *

“ What do you think Titus? Should I add more stars or do you think there is an adequate amount to complement the piece?” Damian steps away from the easel set up in the corner of his room and turns to capture the dog’s reaction. There’s multiple paint splotches spotting his clothes and olive complexion in bright blotches of color and there’s white speckles on his nose that look like added freckles, but Damian doesn’t even care right now. Normally, he’d be very careful about how paint was applied to the canvas and he’d be even more cautious when it came to stains. But this was a  _ very  _ important piece and the person it was being gifted to was anything  _ but _ tidy and neat. 

The hound barks in response and jerks a nod at his owner. “ Hmm… are you sure?” There’s another bark and Damian looks back at the picture, nodding and dipping his paintbrush into the white blob of paint on his wooden palette. “ I suppose this spot could use some more stars.” 

Damian continues to add small adjustments, talking to his dog and taking in his companions suggestions. Eventually, the feeling of satisfaction leads him to give Titus a treat, scratch that favorite spot behind the canine's ear, and find a spot outside to watch the sun set. They both sit out in the lawn on a plaid blanket, just staring off into the sunset above. Damian runs his hand along the dog's coat and leans against him, cheek pressed firmly against soft fur. “ Do you think Richard will enjoy our work Titus?” The boy mumbles, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain for a rare moment. 

Titus doesn’t move and doesn’t respond, as expected. Sometimes Damian wondered why he even bothered taking to the dog as if he could truly comprehend the words he spoke. As if he could understand his language.

The two of them sit outside among the stars with nothing to do but cherish the silence and bask in each other’s presence.

And yeah, Damian may not understand the purpose of many things in this new, unpredictable life. But one thing he understands is that now, he always has a friend.

Even if he isn’t always the brightest. “ You big buffoon! Stop licking my face!”

**Author's Note:**

> Man it was SO hard to write in a dogs perspective, haha. I really wanted to make this longer, but I couldn’t come up with any more so... yeah lol. I also wanted to use the book _Oliver Twist_ in the scene where Damian picks a book but then I remembered when he originally named Titus. So I decided to use the play instead so then I could use his famous quote, lol. I hope everyone enjoyed the first part of the series! Make sure to subscribe to it (or my account) to receive the update email if your interested in sticking around. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are highly encouraged!


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